In the nave of our library, we librarians took turns guarding against intruders. Little Jo, Eustace and I stood ready, pistols at the ready in case anyone failed to respect sanctuary.
When a wanderer entered, they were exactly five feet ten inches tall—though their hat suggested otherwise. They paused at the threshold, boots scattering sand as they considered their next steps.
We welcomed them into our library, cooling them down and stripping off their clothes. It was clear from their struggle to sit up that they needed more than just a rest. Eustace’s careful words and cold compresses suggested they were healing well.
As I surveyed the narrow, whitewashed cellar, I felt a mix of relief and responsibility. Our small library now housed three souls—two regular librarians and an unexpected guest. The saintly eyes from the adobe wall seemed to judge us all as we worked in silence.
The eiroscope’s voice echoed around us, reporting on the CubeSat launch that had just gone perfectly. It was a stark reminder of our world outside, where time moved differently for everyone.
